


The Ecosystemic Project

by ObscureBlueprint



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Doctor John Watson, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, M/M, Sherlock's Mind Palace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 15:55:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30108402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObscureBlueprint/pseuds/ObscureBlueprint
Summary: Much to Sherlock's inaudible persistence, John gives in to see the world through the detective's eyes.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3
Collections: All things Sherlock





	The Ecosystemic Project

221B was supposed to be a place of work, leaving behind the long-standing legacy it was burdened with. Atop blood and bones in the fridge, papers and pencils thrown around the house and patched up couches, it covered a layer of their troubles with warmth and comfort; something neither Sherlock and John were used to. 

After cowering away from wars and manifestos, John Watson sought for a home. A place to shelter himself and barricade against the bullets from his own weapons of destruction. It was his personal barrack, shielding him from the tortures the world faced and the little that had escaped through the windows caught to him - from failed relationships to repulsive thoughts he wouldn't dare dream of thinking about and hollers and calls from his fellow soldiers of the past who unfortunately, didn't make it. 

Sherlock, however, was cocooned and dazed and yearned for bloodshed as a way to prove himself worthy against the looming academic threat his esteemed brother posed.

Alongside working with disgraceful numbskulls who's gravitational pull was enough to lure the world back to its deplorable and primitive ways, he was a man of metal and steel; ductile and defiant. The man who wished to plunder a pirate's ship ended up claiming the throne to a mind palace.  _ A character development _ , he would've said. Unfortunately for him, the men of the palace retaliated, alarming him with gunpowder and hooking him close with a ticking watch. 

Sherlock had lost the battle years ago. His position in the palace was seemingly a figurehead with a motionless figure erected in one of the chambers as a memory that William Holmes existed, before the palace took on a new name under a new administration. 

"Look into my eyes, John. Will you?" Sherlock begged, holding the doctor close. 

"Why?" John asked, confused. 

"You'll know. You're a man with a keen observation, hidden underneath layers of unwarranted sentiment towards people you barely know and understand." Sherlock started, "I request you to ignore them and devote your full attention -- up here--" - he tapped on his forehead. 

John tried. He really did. Squinting wasn't worth the pain. With two hands on Sherlock's shoulders, almost enough to cup his face in a romantic way, John dug through the bodies that blocked Sherlock's peripheral vision and observed. Their paths bridged after a tremendous pull that was projected to return unsatisfactory results. 

The palace was wonderful, John thought as he set out on foot to examine the porch and the trees that covered every inch of the land. His fists were closed and clenched together, covering the desperate urge to flinch at the calm before the storm. The enormous foyer with hundreds of books enchanted John in to spend an hour and a half just going through the titles. Resisting the urge to pry the Holmes family apart and whatever that came along with it, John moved along. 

The palace was a battlefield which had once housed millions of victims from the apathetic propaganda that spread. The violence, the horror and the sliced up organs that could've possibly taken over the kingdom apprehended John. He relaxed, reminding himself that he was just a visitor and there was nothing he could do about it. 

Then came the statue of the young William Holmes. John was petrified at the sculpture's expression. With an open mouth and blinded eyes, carved thinly out of marble and stone, the figure stayed listless.

"William Scott Sherlock Holmes." John read the inscription, "Once a pirate king of an Empire thrown into shambles after the Invasion. Beloved and appreciated by his royal subjects to this day, as he remains here, to adorn our palace with the best and the brightest pair of eyes he provides."

John looked high up at the statue before getting drawn in by William Holmes's eyes. Just like the real one back at 221B. The solidarity that his soul radiated was enough to dazzle the soldier as he had never almost seen tranquility and happiness in the man. The statue was absolutely horrible, but John felt the heartbeats within. He couldn't revive the being back to life, but he was glad that a part of him existed, enough to produce dull thumps from time to time. 

Behind his statue laid a museum. John was forced in to lean to see a few pictures and stills, framed for visitors like him. Judging by the cobwebs, the chamber hardly entertained guests. 

The pictures were intricately drawn and knitted out of pure thought. Almost all of them highlighted John's presence. From their Jennifer Wilson case to the Fall at Bart's, everything was drawn too well. _Sherlock should try his hand at painting,_ John thought. It would be a nice page refresher after his violin sessions. 

And everything slowly blurred. After the Fall. A few pictures later, John could hardly make out what the painting portrayed. It went from detailed sketches to blobs of color. 

Unfortunately for John, his questions remained unanswered as he had elapsed his visiting time. 

"You have a lovely home. Even better than 221B. But why the paintings?" John asked, allowing his hands to creep up near Sherlock's cheeks, "Is it because of my absence?"

"What you saw, was William's memorial." Sherlock replied, "The museum is ever-changing. It takes on a new form to represent the beholder."

"What do the others see?"

Sherlock hesitated and replied, "Nothing. Their presence is nothing but a series of misinterpreted sketches. Their tears don't mean anything to me."

"Must I feel special? That you've taken the time to create those paintings and the fact that I don't see their meaningless versions?" John asked. 

"It's William." Sherlock broke into a small tearful smile, "He resides in the palace. He might be a figurehead but he controls most of the operations, namely storing my best interests for Sherlock Holmes to understand."

"Your best interests?" John asked, to which Sherlock nodded. 

"Of course." he said.

"So-- would William be interested in giving my marriage proposal a chance? After all, he controls most of the operations." John began, retaliating the urge to sob and accelerate the process. 

"Indeed. He would be honored."

"And Sherlock Holmes?"

"He'll grow used to it. He has a soft spot for you. It's incredibly hard penetrating it through his bones, but under William's rule, he'd understand his place and the weight of this request." Sherlock replied, "Unless it doesn't bother him at work, that is."

"Of course not." John assured, "Unfortunately I don't have a ring on me."

"The paintings would do just fine, dear."

John's second visit to the Palace was heartwarming. As he and William's statue stood side by side, gazing into the un-blurred portraits, he couldn't help but feel the warmth the soldier in him had longed for, for all these years. 

The painting was a picture of John and William standing before each other as they narrated their vows, ending in a happy lawful marriage as John had intended it to be. 

Until it bled into reality, there was no harm in dreaming about the same. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.


End file.
